


Caring is not an advantage

by Silverwoulf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthea doesn't like it, Anthea is the Best PA, BAMF Mycroft, Bad guys die, Big Brother Mycroft, Caring Mycroft, Dying Mycroft, Heavy Angst, Like really slow, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft Wump, Mycroft doesn't care for himself, Mycroft is willing to die for Sherlock, Mycroft-centric, No Major Character Death, POV Mycroft Holmes, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock is an arse, Sick Mycroft, Slow Burn, Spoilers for The Abominable Bride, The Abominable Bride spoilers, spoilers for TAB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverwoulf/pseuds/Silverwoulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After what had happened on the plane Mycroft does what his brother had always wanted and leaves him to his own device. All the while his health turns for the worse but that would not deter him from working and in the end saving his brother. Even if it would be at the cost of his own life one way or the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Sherlock Special. If you want to avoid them STAY AWAY!  
> Also Mycroft is sick and refusing help because of the last emotional beating he took from Sherlock. 
> 
> As always. Not Brit-picked, no beta around, English isn't my first language (German is) but mistakes can be pointed out as I want to improve my written English.

After everything that had happened on the plane he stayed where he was. His hands were shaking as he curled them around the hilt of his umbrella. Pressing a harsh breath out between his lips he let his head drop to his leather clad hands.  
For all intents and purposes he had lost. He had lost the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him. Sherlock still wasn’t willing to listen to him, to accept his help and the fact that he in fact did care. Truly he cared too much about his brother, so much so, that he knew somehow Sherlock would be the death of him. 

He heard the car drive away but couldn’t bring himself to care for the fact that he had been left behind. It had always been his fate in the end. His next deep breath wrecked his frame and he brought one hand to curl into his coat just above his heart.  
This was why he had always told Sherlock that ‘caring wasn’t an advantage’. Caring did hurt and he had always wanted to spare Sherlock this. Sadly it seemed like he was meant to fail in sparing his brother the pain of living. 

Some part of him feared that Dr Watson had understood what he had truly meant to say, the meaning behind his not so simple plea. Thankfully the man had accepted it this time and he knew that no matter what would happen to him Sherlock was in good hands. He wondered how Sherlock would react if he wasn’t around anymore to save and protect him. Would he learn to rain is behaviour or would he find his ruin at his own hands? 

Eventually his driver came back and he rose slowly from the planes chair. Once he stepped onto the tarmac he straightened to his full height. While Dr Watson had been able to stand at his full height in the plane Mycroft had to hunch over. It was a relieve to stretch out again.  
Hiding away his feelings behind the mask that he wore daily he settled into the backseat of the car and asked his driver to take him to the Club. He wasn’t able to face his home and thoughts alone at this given time. He knew that he would break down should he be left on his own. 

Still suffering inside he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to go to the office just yet. Anthea would see what was going on with him. The woman knew him best amongst all those that had crossed his path. She even knew better than Sherlock but that simply was because his younger brother never observed him.  
Agony came over him again as his thoughts wandered to all the things he had done for his brother that the man never had come to even be remotely grateful for. How many times had he saved the man’s life without so much as a thank you in return? How often had he intervened when things had gotten out of hand for his brother? What use truly did he have to his brother but that of a handle? It wasn’t Gregory Lestrade from New Scotland Yard that was Sherlock’s handler, it was himself. 

Once he had locked himself away in the office he had at the Club he sat in his chair and let the sob that had been threatening to go free the moment that Sherlock had brushed past him out. It wrecked his frame and he had to slap his hand over his mouth. Letting his head fall back against the chair he let go. He had hoped to rain it in, the pain, the devastation, the utter heartbreak but to no avail. It had been years since he last had cried but he could still remember the day.

He was moving up the ranks of the British secret service fast and Sherlock had just started university. Their mother had called him, worry painting her voice, as she told him that Sherlock had disappeared and nobody knew where too.  
Of course he had dropped everything he was doing and drove to where his little brother had last been seen. He searched the whole town and eventually found him.  
The building was run down, falling to pieces like the lives of the people that used it. He had searched every niche and there he was; thin, pale, sweating, dirty and mumbling some nonsense. At least at the time it had been nonsense to his ears. 

He had dragged his brother out of their and after checking his condition himself he drove him to his apartment in London. Tears had stung his eyes the whole drive and even now he didn’t know how he had been able to make it without crashing the car. Sherlock had been unresponsive in the back of the car, curled up and facing the back of the seats.  
He had spent the whole night fretting over his brother unwilling to send him to a hospital. In his mind he had hoped that it was a simple misstep, a onetime thing. Truthfully he had known it not to be so. The moment he had seen Sherlock like this he had known that this wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. 

Sherlock came around in the middle of the night. He slapped his hand away and shouted at him. His words had been filled with anger, pain and so much rage. Their relationship had never been stable after the whole Redbeard debacle but now it seemed that he had truly dug its grave. Trying with all his might to keep his brother in his bed he only ended up with a black eye. Throughout it all he had never raised his voice at his brother.  
In the morning, after serving him a full breakfast and making sure he ate it all, he asked just one thing off his brother. That he make a list every time he fell to the sweet all of drugs. A list that would make sure that Mycroft knew what he had taken and he got the right treatment. 

Just a day after that Sherlock had been brought to the hospital. He had OD and his condition was bad. Again Mycroft dropped what he had forced himself to pick up.  
There he found his parents settled close together, his mother crying and his father looking lost. He demanded to see his brother and was brought into the hospital room. Sherlock had looked even worse than the day before and his eyes were moving rapidly underneath his closed lids. 

That had been the last time he had cried until now. He had sunken to the floor, his arms folded on the bed and his head shoved into them. His father had dragged him out eventually, shoving a hot cup of tea into his hands.

After that day he was always the first at the hospital. Over the years it had become a routine and the only time he ever saw his brother. Whenever he would rouse from his drug induced sleep he would shout at Mycroft and he took it all in, never truly being angry at Sherlock. Somehow he had felt that the blame lay with him. He had always taken Sherlock’s words far too much to heart.  
Eventually they settled in some form of feud, fueled by anger on Sherlock’s side and frustration on Mycroft’s. Today had been his renewed attempt to reconcile their relationship but as always he was shot down by his brother.  
Sadly he didn’t have the energy or time anymore to run after his brother to take care of him. Thus he had asked Dr Watson to do the job for him from now on. He knew that he could also trust upon DI Lestrade to keep a watchful eye on both men. There was no use for him anymore and while his heart hurt over it his brain knew that it was good this way because ultimately it was what Sherlock wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Sherlock Special. If you want to avoid them STAY AWAY!  
> Also Mycroft is sick and refusing help because of the last emotional beating he took from Sherlock.
> 
> As always. Not Brit-picked, no beta around, English isn't my first language (German is) but mistakes can be pointed out as I want to improve my written English.
> 
> Thank you all very much for your lovely comments!

Things moved fast from there. Sherlock was back to his old self running around between 221 Bakerstreet and the Watson home. Things on the Moriarty end were quiet, too quiet.   
With every day that passed Mycroft removed more and more surveillance on all of them. He removed himself from their lives; let them live it out however they pleased. It wasn’t his place to interfere anymore. 

It wasn’t as if any of them would miss him. After initially meeting Dr Watson he lost any chance to gain any trust from the man. Mary Watson did whatever she pleased to do anyway. Nobody had any control over her what so ever. Sherlock never cared anyway. To DI Lestrade and the whole NSY he had been nothing but a nuisance and Mrs Hudson would surely not miss him as she had never warmed up to him. 

Seeing them all, Sherlock’s new family, like this was strange to him. He had never thought that either of them would find happiness but Sherlock had. The broken man that was his brother had found a home, friends and a family that cared for him for all his flaws. 

He looked down at his folded hands. Without his jacket and waistcoat he felt exposed but what choice did he have truly. With his head bent down he waited for the bad news. He already knew what his doctor was going to tell him but to move things further along he needed official documents.   
The man came back and everything in his posture told Mycroft what he already knew. How did people not know what was going to be said if doctors always carried themselves so openly. Maybe that was the appeal to some but not him. Not to a man who could read his doctor’s habits by the way he moved and dressed, the fact that his wife was cheating by the bags underneath his eyes and how he worried his wedding ring and that he had two young children that were utterly misbehaved as it seemed to be common nowadays. 

“Mr. Holmes my sincerest apologies for the long wait.”  
Mycroft sighed. The man wouldn’t make this fast and painless. He would beat around the bush and dragged the unavoidable conclusion out further.   
“I know what you are going to tell me, so please do spare me the drivel and give me the facts. Better yet hand me the diagnose papers.”  
He knew that he was being utterly rude but what did he truly care. There was still so much work to do and he had no patience anymore to stay at the clinic any longer.   
“Of… of course Mr. Holmes,” stuttered the man taken aback by his behaviour and words.

Who would have thought that he truly wasn’t able to handle a broken heart? He wondered slightly if Sherlock would be amused by it or furious. Brushing the thought away he looked at the possible treatments.   
It was a benign tumour in his heart. Growing rather big it was blocking the blood flow in his heart. The reason he had realised that something was wrong was the shortage of breath when he was running, the sudden lightheadedness and the uncontrollable weight loss. At first he had been happy about the latter condition but soon he realised that he wasn’t simply losing weight but rapidly so. 

The treatment was rather simple but he was unwilling to undergo surgery and looking out at his life he saw no reason to bother with it. There was nobody waiting for him, the only ones that truly would miss him were his parents. Everyone else would move on eventually. Anthea might feel the loss of her boss rather hard at first. He was rather indulgent with her and her behaviour. His successor might not be so or they wouldn’t even want to keep her around. This would be a shame considering how good she was a PA. The secret service would be a bit lost but soon someone would emerge to rain them in and bring back order.   
His will was in order and he had made sure that his burial would be a simple quiet endeavour. He would not stand for people knowing what had happened, who he was and what he had done for all of them. The one person whose opinion had always mattered to him didn’t care enough for it. 

Sitting alone in his flat wasn’t the best idea after receiving undeniable prove of his coming demise but for today he had nowhere else to be. He had forced the doctor into a second prognosis; one that stated that everything was in order and he was in perfect health. This one had been brought to the office before he left again claiming to be still rather drained from the horror that was his brother and all the events involving him. It was the truth in a way so even Anthea hadn’t been able to pick up on the underlying worry.   
Somehow he was wondering why it bothered him so much. He usually did not care for other people but Sherlock but now he was worrying about those few that were involved with him. Wasn’t it him that had said “Death comes to us all,” to his own brother? It was the final problem to say it with Moriarty’s words and Mycroft had always known that it would claim him eventually. 

The day after the diagnosis he got back to work. He had himself under control again and thus saw no reason to hide away any longer. The ‘Ice Man’ was back and he would rule the kingdom while he still could. Parallel to his usual duties he would scout for a successor. He was going to have everything in order by the time he would be unable to hide his condition any longer. Nobody would be able to claim that he was ever unprepared not even on his last days. There would never be a day in his professional career that he would allow anyone to be able to claim such a thing. 

Weeks went by and nothing further happened. There was no word from Moriarty and neither did anything seem to happen with his brother. Sadly the same couldn’t be said for politicians as they were bumbling idiots as usual and it seemed that there was no other person to be found to step in and right their wrongs. A scandal there, some rash words here and one idiot saying words that never should have left his mouth left him wondering how the world would go on without him. But there was something reassuring because humanity always found its way no matter how bad things looked and how horribly things went.   
The routine of dealing with the world and its problems was balm for his stressed and worried soul and he relished in the simplicity that his work sometimes could be. While the tension between certain countries and civil wars in others were rather strenuous they were nothing he couldn’t handle. The harder the problem was the more he was relieved for it.

Anthea was throwing him some strange looks considering how much he was pushing her, his team and furthermore himself to work. He simply put it off as residual energy that was usually wasted on his brother. She accepted his words even though she still wondered why he had drawn back from Sherlock and his life to the extend he had.   
He had simply and calmly told her that he was done picking up after his brother. And he truly was because being the caretaker of his brother had been an ungrateful, heart-breaking job that had taken far too much out of him. It had been the truth and as before she saw that and didn’t pry further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started to write it the day after I watched TAB because I was suffering from Mycroft!feels. My mind had settled on the idea that Mycroft is to die in season 4 and I couldn't cope with that. I still can't but writing all of this helps.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Sherlock Special. If you want to avoid them STAY AWAY!  
> Also Mycroft is sick and refusing help because of the last emotional beating he took from Sherlock.
> 
> As always. Not Brit-picked, no beta around, English isn't my first language (German is) but mistakes can be pointed out as I want to improve my written English.
> 
> Thank you all very much for your lovely comments!

It was June by the time things changed. Looking everywhere he felt some underlying tension worldwide. Russia and the USA were at each other’s throats all the while getting involved in crises all over the planet that weren’t their business. France was going crazy after another hit devastated the capital and country. Refugees were flooding Europe but only a few countries did their utmost to help along. To his ever growing horror the PM was blocking any chances for them to do anything in this regard. He was running the UK to the ground and went as far as to demand that they leave the EU. If that should happen they would lose strong allies and the support system that was the European Union. The Middle East was tearing itself apart while South America’s drug lords got more and more powerful. 

Considering the workload he had it was no surprise to him when he, in the middle of June, collapsed. It wasn’t bad but he had risen from his chair to fast, his heart cramped with the disrupted blood flow and he passed out.   
With Anthea, Charlie and MI6’s best doctor bowed over him he realised that his time was running out. They would find out and he would be forced to leave his office earlier than he would like. Closing his eyes and inwardly groaning at what was going to happen he pushed himself to his elbows. 

Anthea gave him a stern talking to, Charlie stood behind her giving him angry looks and the doctor just shook his head at the chart in his hands.   
“This should have been recognised during your last check-up Mr. Holmes.”  
“It was wasn’t it? But you made sure that nobody would know about it!” interrupted Anthea before he even had the chance to open his mouth.  
She was angry and rightfully so. Not only because he was her direct employer but also because they were something akin to friends. He trusted her and had betrayed that trust by lying to her about his condition. A frightening thought came to him as he looked into her thunderous eyes.  
What if he was to die alone? He was pushing the two people in his live that truly cared for him away; had been doing it subconsciously over the months. His heart gave another painful lurch and he curled his hand over it. 

His faithful PA stopped mid-rant as he bowed over. Instantly Charlie pushed past her and took his face into his hands. There were many reasons why he trusted the man so much. Not only had he been in his employment from the moment that Mycroft got his office but he had proved many times how good he was. As the head of his security detail, something which had become necessary at some point many years ago, he was as in the loop about his boss’ live as was Anthea. Also he was a steady bastion of calm. Fixating the light brown eyes he took deep breaths and eventually sat upright again. 

“My apologies but there is little that could be done about it and I believed it far more important to ensure that everything was in order than wallow about the unavoidable.”  
“It is treatable,” murmured the doctor.  
He looked sharply at the man.   
“While that is true I am unwilling to die on a surgery table when I can be of far more use to the kingdom this way.”

Now it was Anthea’s time to surge forward. She slapped him hard across the face. It stung but the moment he had recognised her movement he knew what she was about to do. If he had wanted to stop her it would have been easy to do so but he knew that she needed this.  
“The chances of dying during surgery are far more unlikely than you seem to believe. What use are you dead to this world?”  
The silent ‘Why’ hung between them but neither was willing to acknowledge it yet. There would be a time and place for it but it was not in the folds of MI6 with a stranger amongst them.   
He regarded her as she drew back. Tears were stinging her eyes and she didn’t look at him directly. Sighing he stood from the bed and drew himself up. Looking around he found his waistcoat and jacked. Silently he redressed and throwing a look over his shoulder he made sure that Charlie took care of Anthea for now.   
Next he made sure that the doctor followed him outside. He closed the door and waited a moment.

“I want to make it absolutely clear that my condition is not to be reported. Me fainting was a simple reaction to not sleeping and eating right over the last couple of weeks. Am I clear?”  
His stern and cold look had the poor man cowering. He clutched his chart to his chest and nodded in agreement.   
“There will be no consequences to you should the time come that my condition will be open knowledge but for not it is not to be so.”  
“Heart surgery these days truly isn’t something to be worried about, sir and I am sure that a man in your position would instantly have the best surgeons available.”  
It was the good man’s last desperate attempt but Mycroft wouldn’t hear of it. He had made his peace with the concept of dying possibly this or the coming year. There truly was only his work holding him in this world and in the months to come he would have everything in order. He wouldn’t be needed by that point anymore and so his passing would be a small remark in the papers and that would be it. 

Returning to his office should have been calming but as soon as he had settled down in his chair again the door was pushed open and one pissed off looking detective inspector stormed the room. Argent came bustling in after him, wringing his hands and looking apologetic. How the man had gotten where he was, was beyond Mycroft but he did not have the time or patience to care much. He waved him away again and regarded the fuming DI.   
The man’s shoulders were tense, his brows furrowed in suppressed anger, his hands balled to fists and his breath was a controlled affair. Fear reared its head again as the only reason the man could be here was because something had happened to Sherlock. 

“Detective inspector to what do I own the unforeseen pleasure.”  
The left eye twitched a clear indicator that the man didn’t appreciate Mycroft’s reaction to his intrusion.   
“I’m just here to let you know that Sherlock OD again two days ago. Considering that there was not even the slightest sign of you he even went as far as to inquire about you today.”  
It was to be expected wasn’t it? Addicts had so much trouble breaking their habits and Sherlock was one of the worst. He claimed to possess the strength to stop whenever he wanted but he hadn’t. The drugs had a too strong claim over him.   
“An event that we are so very much used to even though it is curious why his drug addled mind thought I would be there,” he regarded his folded hands before he looked up at the cop again.  
“Because you’ve been always there!”

That indeed was true but his brother had made it clear that he wasn’t wanted. Time and time again he had only regarded his care with cruelty. The confrontation on the plane was meant to be their last and he would do his best to make sure of it. He wasn’t wanted and he was done feeling the pain at seeing the hate from his brother.  
“That may be true but what use did it have?”  
The shoulders sagged a bit and the angry curl of the strong fingers loosened a fraction. Somehow the DI must have recognised the underlying emotion.  
Cursing at himself he drew up the walls again. He would not allow this simple man in front of him to see him like this. It was bad enough that the Watsons had seen him plead with his brother, had seen the care and love he still carried for his brother. 

“It always helped him to see you there, you know.”  
The admission was quiet and tentative as if the man feared his reaction. There was nothing the cop had to be afraid of. He had long since resigned anything in regards of Sherlock. After everything, after trying time and time again, he had closed that chapter of his life to never open it again. The pain was too much and he’d rather not suffer on the end game.   
“Yes, shouting and blaming others is a wonderful way to feel better about ones failures I am sure. It has been made clear to me that I am not wanted and for the last time I will heed my brother’s wishes and do as he asks of me,” standing he pulled his waistcoat down and walked around his table.  
Opening the door to his office he held it for the DI with a raised eyebrow.  
“If you would be so kind and not even consider a repeat of today’s performance I would very much appreciate it. Now have a good day detective inspector.”

Always polite even when he was clearly kicking someone out of his office. It was something that politicians around the world feared. His calm and collected reaction to slights to his person, the way he seemed to treat even the biggest idiot with kindness while anger burned like furnace in his core. Intrusions like this weren’t welcome and he hoped that he had made his point to the DI. He would not tolerate something like this again and the consequences would be dire for the good man. The city of London would lose one of their best coppers and a very good man but there was only so much disregard for his person he could take. 

With a confused frown folding his eyebrows together the DI walked passed him and left. His posture told him that he was not happy with how the whole affair had turned out. It hadn’t been what he had hoped to achieve and not what he had feared would happen. Instead it was something completely different and Mycroft feared that he had rather shown his hand to the man. If the DI even had an inclining to what truly was going on he wasn’t sure what he would do.   
The idea of Sherlock getting wind of this before it was too late was a frightful one. He would involve his parents and he wasn’t sure if he could say no to the pleas of his mother. The woman had such a strong hold over both her sons and both of them couldn’t truly bring themselves to hurt her. While Sherlock’s constant substance abuse did hurt her, it would be nothing to his demise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always. Not Brit-picked, no beta around, English isn't my first language (German is) but mistakes can be pointed out as I want to improve my written English.
> 
>  
> 
> Anthea is a good PA and they care about their boss very much.

There were no further interruptions of his life and work by anyone that considered themselves part of his brother’s life. Neither were there any further rebounds on his health. For everyone he appeared as healthy as ever if not a bit thinner. He was eating more and more every day but it seemed he truly couldn’t keep his weight. Who would have thought that at one point in his live he would have trouble keeping his weight rather than gaining it?   
It was a concern and not only for him as Anthea seemed to be determined to check on him every day. Even on those days that she or he didn’t work. On one hand it was a bother to him but on the other he was warmed by her concern for him. 

Of course it was hard on him to think that Sherlock was still not over his addiction and he wasn’t there to help. Until now though all he had truly done to help his brother was get him out of thought situations. He had made sure that there never were any consequences to his reckless and more often than not thoughtless behaviour. It was about time that his brother realised that the world did not bow to him and that he needed to clean his act up if he truly wanted to function without his big brother watching over him.  
Still he stayed away from anything involving his brother no matter how much he wanted to read the reports, watch the surveillance of him and send some of the youngsters after his brother. It had once been a training regime for pretty much all of them. If they were able to stay hidden from his brother’s ever watchful eye for a week they were good enough to truly work for the secret service. 

What became of this no he did not know and truthfully he did not care about little facts like these. It was the big picture that still worried him. There still had been no sightings of Moriarty or anyone that would have claimed to be him. Sherlock had dismantled his network completely, the secret service making sure to get rid of the more troublesome characters under the madman’s reign.   
He dragged his fingers across the hardwood table top as he watched the men and women around him cry for his attention. The conflicts around the world were getting more and more worrisome but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to truly care. Whatever might happen in the near future it did not really concern him did it. On days like these he wondered why he still bothered. It would be so much easier to tell everyone he was dying and wanted to spend his last remaining weeks in peace. At the same time he knew that peace wouldn’t come to him this way. His mind would be always reeling about what could and should be done. 

It was of no use to wonder about these things. He had made his decision and that was to stay in office for as long as he was capable and maybe even longer. His legacy should not be a world in shambles when he was very capable still to prevent this from happening. So he applied his mind every day to the worries and troubles of the world’s leaders. It was a never ending battle for freedom and peace but every small victory was a step closer to the ultimate goal.   
Letting his eyes drift over everyone in attendance he let them come to rest upon Anthea. She sat with all the other PA’s to the side. He had no idea why his colleagues insisted on something like this for they would not be able to do their work without their trusted assistants at their sides and that was very much where he preferred the dark haired woman. 

She was holding his eyes and a small frown had settled between her perfectly shaped brows over the last days. He knew why. Now that she knew what was going on with him she saw all the signs and they were there. By now he was incapable of sleeping through the night because his breathing cut out during the night. He was sure that he would not see the end of the year considering how fast the symptoms were getting worse. His assistant wasn’t happy with his descicion of refusing surgery but she respected him enough to let him have his way.   
At least he hoped that was the case and that she wasn’t secretly plotting to force him into surgery eventually. It would not be beyond her capabilities and wishes. Still she would not dare because she knew of the consequences and they would be far too dire. He not only had far too much power he also wasn’t beyond using it for his own purposes. 

With no conclusion the meeting was ended two hours later than planned. He stretched his tired limbs and took a shuddering breath. His chest was hurting and an hour ago numbness had settled into his fingertips. Maybe he should take it more slowly.  
Anthea was instantly at his side and her silent support meant the world to him. Grateful he looked at her sad eyes. A spark of regret rippled through him but there was nothing he was willing to do about it. 

Instead of driving to his office or the Club she directed the driver to take him home. It was for the best and he let her lead him about for the rest of the day. Of course it was not what she was payed to do but somehow over the years of being always at his side she had become a caretaker of some sorts. Not like he had been in a way for his brother and not like someone was for an old person but someone that made sure that he didn’t work himself into the ground. He would have done so on many occasions if it wasn’t for her. She did not fear him enough to accept anything he threw at her and was willing to speak her mind. 

“Is it alright with you sir if I order us something to eat?”  
There was no hesitation in her voice and she already was tapping away at her phone. She knew what they both liked and always made sure these days that he ate enough to keep his weight.   
“Thank you.”  
He knew that his was soft. She threw him a surprised look but smiled in return her eyes warming. Brushing her hand over his shoulder she moved into the kitchen to get them both something to drink while they waited for their food.   
Nobody would guess that he liked to eat takeaway on his settee with some crap telly running in the background but it was one of his more normal sides that he only revealed to a selected few. Namely Anthea and Charlie, they were the only ones who had ever seen him like this.

“I have called Charlie in.”  
He lifted his eyebrow at her and could see the faint blush that she wasn’t able to hide away completely. Nobody would have recognised it but him. She was that good and so was he.   
“Have you now. What prey tell did you hope to achieve with that my dear?”  
Humour crinkled the corner of his eyes. It had been far too long that both of them let go a bit of their public personas. They had been carrying the masks of the Ice Man and his trusted Guardswoman for far too long.   
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered and gave him a pleading look.  
“Your secret is safe with me but do me a favour and do not wait too long. I would love to be able to see it happen.”   
Her eyes darkened with sorrow for a moment and he regretted his words. He had meant them in humour but had forgotten that she was not fine with what was going to happen. They never had that much needed talk and he felt that maybe today was a good day to come clean about his decision. She would not like it and neither would Charlie but they both would accept it. 

Charlie arrived with the food and they all settled on the settee with Mycroft in the middle. Anthea had pushed her feet underneath his thigh and Charlie had curled his underneath himself. All three of them painted a picture of relaxation but he felt the underlying tremors of worry in both of them. Still they ate in warm silence while the telly ran in the background.   
Eventually they were done and he felt both his companions speaking to one another with looks. Smiling at their antics he let them have their way and waited. Half an hour later it seemed that both had come to a conclusion. 

“Sir, if we may be so frank, why aren’t you truly willing to undergo surgery?” asked Charlie.   
He sighed and settled back against the cushions. His hand rested on Anthea’s ankle as he looked at the telly not seeing anything.   
“There is little in this world for me worth fighting for. I have become tired of the work I am doing and the few people that I will leave behind are strong enough to move on. Truly there will be only four that will miss me and two of these are you while the others are my parents. There is nothing truly holding me here and everything that would come with the surgery is not worth it to me. I’m willing to go and leave things in others hands.”  
Both of them were silent for a long time mulling over the words he had just said and what they meant.

“Do you truly think that you won’t be missed?”  
Anthea sounded utterly sad and he couldn’t bear to look at her.  
“Who else is there? I’ve been struggling with this for a long time now and the one person who I thought would realise what was going on didn’t even see.”  
The pain over his brother’s behaviour still sat deep within is failing heart. He had done too much for the reckless man only to ever gain his mistrust and scorn.   
“He would be devastated, sir.”  
“Would he? Evidence paints a different picture.”  
“Aren’t we enough?”  
He shook his head at her question.  
“It is not that you aren’t enough. I am afraid of dying on the table and by now I have little strength left to fight the aftermath of such a surgery.”  
“You’ve given up.”

There was anger, frustration and resignation in Charlie’s words. He accepted that there was nothing they could do to change his mind but somewhere deep down he wasn’t willing to give up on him. Mycroft was grateful to have such loyal people at his side and it truly was a regretful thing to abandon them like this. It still wasn’t enough though.   
“He does not deserve that you are killing yourself for him,” concluded Anthea and pressed her toes upwards so they dug into the meat of his thigh.   
That brought him to a halt. She was right in a way. Sherlock wasn’t worth his death but he was still unwilling to change his mind. Maybe he was too stubborn about this and incapable to see the light in the dark but neither Anthea nor Charlie were able to light his way.

Frowning he thought about who would be able to do it. Sherlock of course but the man was unwilling and incapable of caring for him. His brother would have been the only one and wasn’t that painting a sad picture of him? In the end his brother had been right again. He was lonely. There was nobody but his brother in his life to keep him going and now that he had finally had enough suffering he had given up. He wasn’t going down as shining as he had hoped.  
A strained smile played at his lips and he closed his eyes with a sigh. What use was there to dwell on it now? Death came to them all and his was taking faster and faster strides. He welcomed it in the end. Was that suicide in a way? How pitiful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up, Moriarty returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always. Not Brit-picked, no beta around, English isn't my first language (German is) but mistakes can be pointed out as I want to improve my written English.

It was a month later that things turned truly for the worse. The threat of Moriarty had been forgotten by the citizens of London but with a sudden spike in murders, crime and general upheaval they remembered what had happened all over the kingdom. Panic spread like wildfire through the nation. Something which didn’t help the police or other operatives working to protect the people and find the origin of it all.   
Mycroft had drawn all his resources back. They were now only concentrating on this one evil that haunted their world. It wasn’t to the liking of most of the politicians and members of the secret service but there was nothing they could do about it. For as long as this threat hung over their heads he was going to do everything he could to prevent the thick of it all reaching his brother.   
Moriarty had haunted his brother and had nearly driven him to his death. Whoever used the face of horror they all had once feared for their own gain, they would go after Sherlock at some point. 

Months they spend on the hunt and with every day that passed the danger became more and more. No matter how deep they went the responsible party stayed hidden from their sight.   
He wasn’t sleeping and after driving one rage filled fist into his mirror he had refused to ever look into one from that day on. It was clearly visible that his days were counted. He had lost a lot of weight, was as thin as his brother, pale but not the healthy kind and his eyes were red.   
There was one thing though that could be said about Mycroft Holmes he was not a man to give up so easily. It had been requested that he step down but things were not ready yet. The last preparations had to be completed and with the upheaval he was not ready to pass the throne on. It was his duty to ensure his brothers safety because he had always been there for him and would be till his last day. As always his caring would be completed behind the curtains and without the knowledge of his brother.

Finally they had found the person behind it all. While usually it was never the twin Jim Moriarty had a younger twin who had taken his role as the world’s criminal mastermind. Compared to the older twin he on the other hand did not like the subtle play from the background and had avoided confrontation with Sherlock so far. Reports were brought to him every two hours and should something bigger happen instantly.   
Mycroft brushed a shaking hand over his brows. They had found the man all they had to do now was lay a trap and ensure that it was sprung. Considering that he wasn’t even remotely aware that he was constantly being watched and followed it would not be hard to get him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the man caught or rather shot on sigh. It would be far easier on his mind if the latter would be the case. Less chances of him escaping and running everything once Mycroft wasn’t there anymore. 

There always would be madmen and women to ruin the day but so far none had been as horrible as the Moriarty brothers. They had enjoyed it all as much as Sherlock enjoyed solving the most awful murders, as much as Dr Watson enjoyed running after him and as much as he loved his brother.  
The brother they were in the end using to spring the trap on the living Moriarty brother. It was time to free the world of them once and for all.   
He didn’t like the plan they had but it was the only way to ensure success as long that Sherlock did not ruin it. The chance was always there. 

It was three weeks later that the trap was laid out and Moriarty on his way to step into it. Somewhere in the back of his mind Mycroft did wonder why it was so easy. Things were never this easy with people like that. At least they shouldn’t be why else would he have been able to avoid detection for so long. Something was wrong, very wrong but he did not know what. They had made sure that nobody but the selected few knew about any ongoings in the hunt for the madman. It was no use fretting over something that probably was just his over tired mind going crazy.   
He had demanded to be there when it all happened no matter how much Anthea and Charlie had been trying to talk him down from the idea. After hours of talking to him, trying their very best they had given up and accepted their fate. 

Anthea was glued at his side and so was Charlie. They had come around and gone on a couple of dates before deciding that they were indeed good for each other. He was happy for them and glad that it had happened before his time was up. All of three of them carried their respective weapons with them just to make sure that the operation was a success no matter what.   
As they got to the old warehouse he checked with every operative and ensured that they were at their posts and aware. Two agents stepped up to him and they talked everything through again. It was something he hated about fieldwork. The constant repeating of what was to do and what could possible happen.   
They placed themselves on the second floor so they could overlook everything. He was winded after climbing the stairs but not willing to sit down to rest. Leaning heavily on his umbrella that these days was more often used as a cane than what its original use was. 

Half an hour later five men entered the premises. Andrew Smith one of the drug lords of London amongst them. They had known of this meeting the moment it was planned and heard a month ago that Moriarty was going to join them. He wasn’t there to help the drug rings of London he planned to take over and there was no simpler way to do this than kill one of the leading men. No matter how uncontrollable the younger Moriarty was he was good at what he did otherwise no one would ask for his help. It was simply different from the other’s way of handling things.   
Moriarty was not yet amongst the men and from the looks they were throwing around they had expected him to be already here or to show up at any moment. He was unreliable like this.

Another hour passed before he walked into the building. He had the same swagger his older brother had had and seemed like him not to care one bit for the people around him. Found them boring like they all did. They talked about business and eventually Mycroft was informed that his brother, Dr Watson and DI Lestrade were on their way.   
He felt the sudden tension amongst his people. The trap was getting tighter but at the same time were the stakes getting higher. Sherlock could deduce their presence and ruin everything for them. He could bring death to them all with one stupid move and he was prone for these. 

Mycroft gripped the handle tighter while Charlie readied his rifle. They were ready but still something seemed off. He was sweeping his eyes over the warehouse and then he saw it. The small glint that shouldn’t be there. His eyes flickered down to the criminals again and Moriarty was looking straight at him out of the corner of his eyes. Nobody would see it but him.   
Fear gripped his heart. They had not only been made the criminal mastermind had known about it all along. There was a mole amongst his most trusted. Not only had he put his people at risk but also Sherlock and his trusted knights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chances are high that we are halfway to the end of this. I have chapter 7 written already and I am pretty sure that there will only be 9 chapters but this is not set yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation and things go to some plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill.

He turned on the spot and walked down the flight of stairs. If the man knew all they had planned out the only chance to ensure success at minimal loss and protect his brother was to do something nobody would expect. The only way was to throw himself into the line of fire.   
Taking a deep breath he realised that this was the end he had wanted all along. To die protecting his brother, to let the last thing he did be the one thing he had always done for as long as Sherlock had been born. It was a bit too dramatic for his tastes but it was all he could do on such short notice.

Sherlock stepped into the light and started rambling at the men in front of him. Dr Watson looked shocked at what the younger man had done and Lestrade looked ready to kill the youngest Holmes. Apparently his brother had gone behind the other man’s backs and had simply decided to do what he wanted. It was so very much like Sherlock to always do what he wanted never considering the consequences for himself or the people around him. But it was what he had expected and what their original plan had been build up around. 

He sped up his steps but held himself in the shadows. Anthea was just behind him and he had heard Charlie curse the moment he had turned around. They knew what he planned to do. If ever there were two people who knew him it was them.   
Moriarty returned the verbal exchange and both younger brothers walked circles around each other. The criminals stood there looking confused. They were not aware of what was going on. This meant that the leak was directly connected to Moriarty while this was to be expected it was worrying. What else was the man aware of? 

They did not make anyone of the team aware of the change. The mole was most likely amongst the people placed around the warehouse. He would not risk it he had risked far too much already. Loosing was not an option for him never had been and never would be.  
By now both men were shouting at each other after Sherlock had called the younger Moriarty a weak copy of his brother. It was a match between two lesser younger brothers that had to live in the shadows of their brothers. Sherlock never had too but he saw it that way and that was enough for him to believe it. He saw but did not observe the fool.   
While Dr Watson stood about watching the shouting match Lestrade had silently moved around and with the gun held in his hands he moved in on the criminals. They were focused on the two madmen in their midst and did not realise the cop was about to get to them. There was no chance that the DI could take down five men on his own and secure them.

He glanced at Anthea and then back at the DI. She understood and typed a short order at one of their men. It was a risk but so was letting the cop do what he was about to on his own. Mycroft wanted no casualties if possible on their sides and thus had to ensure that the man was safe. Once he saw one of their own move he returned to the shouting match and focused on Moriarty. He had to make sure that he did not miss the right moment.   
The signs were there and oblivious to whomever that dared to look closer. A slight twitch in the right hand of Moriarty and Mycroft grabbed his umbrella tighter. His weapon of choice was rather fanciful and dramatic but had been of use so very often to him. The thin blade was sharp and unsheathed from the shaft without a sound. He loosened the blade but did not pull it out fully. 

Now even Sherlock recognised the twitch for what it was and realised his mistake. He had provoked a true beast. While the elder Moriarty had been insane he was controlled insanity. The younger on the other hand was mad all the way and did possess little control. They were the perfect mirror image of them. The Moriarty siblings had turned to crime and violence while the Holmes brothers had found their way to justice. In some very obtuse sense that might not fit the definition for a lot of people.   
Sherlock’s eyes twitched over to where his trusted companion stood and were about to flicker around in search of Lestrade but he thought better of it and focused again on Moriarty. He was in danger and he knew it. Without seeing it the consulting detective had walked into a trap and had brought his two friends with him. 

Mycroft squared his shoulders.  
Moriarty grinned sickening and pulled a small gun from his coat. He pointed it at Sherlock and as Dr Watson made for his own gun the man pointed up and three snipers showed themselves. Not amongst them was the glint he had seen before. He looked at Anthea and made sure that she held their people back. If they showed their cards now chaos would break out and he was sure that they would lose.   
“You know what my brother’s mistake was? He liked to play with you far too much,” said Moriarty, “I find you to be rather boring.” 

That was the moment he stepped from the shadows and made his whereabouts known. Walking smoothly towards the two men he threw an angry look towards his brother and then gave the other all his attention.   
“Mr. Moriarty the younger I presume?”  
“Oh don’t pretend that you don’t know that already. I’ve been expecting you for some time now Holmes.”  
“I found that there was no imminent rush.”  
Which was a complete lie but the man did not need to know how desperate he had been to catch him. To be rid of him before he too ruined his brother. 

“Truly now? I thought I was a rather big threat to you. Well it is of no matter now is it? I have you where I wanted you.”  
He lifted his eyebrows at the other as a clear sign that he was to continue but he didn’t. Instead he still held the gun pointed at Sherlock and looked at him. He had seen the records. Moriarty would be able to shoot his brother without needing to see where he was pointing at.   
“Looking at you I would say I have wasted a lot. You are dying anyway!”  
That did seem to surprise the man. The mole had either not thought the information relevant or he had not known. Too many possibilities still. 

He saw Sherlock’s eyes honing in on him. It was the first time since the plane that they had seen each other and his declining health was oblivious to even the simplest man. His brother was about to speak but Moriarty simply tutted at him.  
“I am none the less feeling honoured that you choose to come here personally.”   
Again he was speaking the truth. Somehow while more uncontrolled the younger Moriarty was far easier to handle. He did not seem to care for lies. Refreshing but dangerous because the man felt save where he was.  
“As you should. Now I would like to conduct this business further but as you are surely aware of standing around like this isn’t good for me.”  
“Well that is your problem isn’t it? I find this spot rather good so I am staying right where I am.”

Slimy bastard just like his brother in the end. He spoke in the same sultry drawl if he wanted to trying to make others feel inferior. There was just one problem. He was speaking to Mycroft Holmes and as Sherlock had put it he was the most dangerous man one would ever meet.  
His eyes turned sharp and his whole posture changed. With that change there was a flicker of fear in Moriarty’s eyes. He recognised his mistake but was still unwilling to back down. Now that problem could be resolved easily. What was far more problematic were the men that belonged to him and his own mole. 

He heard the slight noise and knew instantly that everything was clear. Somehow Anthea and Charlie had worked around the mole and had disposed of Moriarty’s men or had them secure. They were of no danger anymore and the man before him didn’t even know about it.   
A dangerous smile flitted upon his face. He knew what he looked like as Anthea had once taken a picture of him. They had been in a rather long discussion with some prime minister when he gave the man this look. He had gotten his way a second later and the man had resigned his post not willing to be at the end of his ire again.   
Moriarty jerked at it. Taking a deep breath he controlled his shaking hand and throwing one desperate look at him he turned to Sherlock and made to pull the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to warn you about the next chapter. It will be a bit... in a way gruesome. Just so you are aware.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation reaches its high and Mycroft truly is the Ice Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore my dear readers be warned!

While he was not prone to leg work these days nobody would have dared to question his abilities should he be forced to do leg work. He did not run to lose weight even if it was a nice effect of it; he kept in shape to be able to dive in if necessary. Throughout his career it had been a smart choice as not always meetings went as one would have wanted. 

Drawing the sword Mycroft moved in swiftly. The thin blade cut through fabric, skin, flesh, muscle, tendons and bone as it separated Moriarty’s hand from his arm. With a thud the appendage fell to the ground and the gun clattered away.   
His heart gave a lurch and his lungs burned but he would not bow down just yet. There still were some things that needed to be cleared off and he knew that Moriarty would not be deterred by a lost hand.   
Moving the blade in an elegant arch he forced the tip into the flesh between the madman’s collarbones. His blue gaze fixated on Moriarty and whenever the brown eyes flickered away he pushed further. 

“Now I believe it is prudent that we stop this foolish behaviour, wouldn’t you agree?”  
He drew every wall up around him and became what the elder Moriarty had dubbed the Ice Man. Nothing would deter him from what was going to happen. They had made the mistake with the other in hope to gain more intel this time though they would not be this stupid. He had come for two reasons only, to ensure Sherlock’s safety and to kill Moriarty.   
“You are on your own now nobody to save your skin and nobody here will even whisper a word of what is transpiring here.”  
“If you believe that to be…”  
Furrowing his brows he slit the thin skin over the left collarbone and returned the blade to hole he had already pushed into the skin. Hissing Moriarty flinched but the blade never left him. 

Mycroft suppressed the tremor in his outstretched arm. Should he show so much as an incline that he was reaching the end of his strength he would lose. The chance was still there it always was with men like the Moriarty brothers. He always had shown impeccable control over his body even though it was failing him these days.   
“I do not believe anything.”  
Confused the man blinked.  
“I know everything. There is quiet the difference between both. Disappointing, I did not pick you for a fool. Apparently I was wrong and to think I went through all this trouble.”  
While he played the dismissive Ice Man he did not let go of the tension in his whole body. He was anything but dismissive of the madman. They were far too dangerous and he had dealt with far too many of them. 

The man that had held his position in some regards before him had made that mistake once. An unfortunate event that had left the secret service reeling till Mycroft had stepped up and taken the position.   
Of course there had been whispers about him but nobody was willing to formulate a convincing reason for him not to take it. Over the years he had proven his worth and had somewhat become indisposable for the British government. Sherlock’s words of him being the British government weren’t untrue. While he did not rule not even from behind the curtain he saw to everything and made sure that nobody did too much damage.   
It had been hard work but he had relished in it. Not the power but the ability to shift the opinions and ideas of the most powerful people in whichever way he deemed necessary. It was the thrill of bowing people to his will without them being aware of it. Of course one could argue that this was power. 

Rage filtered through Moriarty’s gaze and in one surprising move he stabbed himself on the blade. Shocked Mycroft did not react in time and the blade the madman had hidden in his sleeve found its way into his side. He felt the metal penetrating his skin but gave it no further thought. Pain was relative you felt it but you could ignore it. He had learned to ignore it over the years as it wasn’t the first time a blade had found its way into his body. Still the stab wound could be fatal to him in the state he was in.  
“If I’m going to die I will take you with me you pompous prick,” gurgled Moriarty before he twisted the blade, took it out again and plunged it into his back.

Standing face to face with the man Mycroft looked calmly into his eyes. He had made his peace already there was nothing he had to fret over. Naturally there was still the trouble with the mole but Anthea had Moriarty’s men under her control now things would be sorted. The paper work had been prepared and his successors interviewed. Not that they were aware of their luck. Anthea amongst them all would be least happy with what he had in mind for her but people rarely stayed angry at the deceased.   
“This is really your last argument? It is rather weak considering we have already established that my time was counted.”  
Before Moriarty could make another attempt at removing the blade he twisted his own up and sideways. 

Blood sprayed from the carotid artery. It hit him but he ignored the warm fluid as he watched Moriarty slowly fall to the ground. In sync with the pulsing of his still beating heart the blood swelled from the deep wound. How many times had he killed with this same blade? It was a rather relieving that this would be the last time.   
Adrenaline prevented him from feeling the pain from the stab wounds or the aching of his tired and worn out body. He had pushed himself too far and the impending darkness already breached his view. It would be seconds before he collapsed. If he had any say in it he would avoid it being in front of Sherlock and his merry men. 

“Dreadful but I believe things are resolved. Anthea if you would accompany me I believe that Charlie has everything under control.”  
He knew his voice was thin as it was taking everything out of him to be still standing but he would not have it. They all were already aware of his state but he did not need to further the embarrassment.   
Anthea instantly was at his side. He saw her hands twitch the mobile phone nowhere in sight. That alone was a sign of how horrible he must truly look. Sighing he righted himself as far as he could. Not caring for the irritable damage he would do to the blade he sheathed it again. It was rather fitting to leave it sitting in the blood of the last man he had killed with his own hands. 

Taking one step towards the exit his legs gave away underneath him. Breathing out a sharp breath of shock and pain his eyes widened. So much for keeping the embarrassment to a minimum he groused in his own head.   
To his surprise it wasn’t Anthea that caught him but Sherlock. He saw the blue green gaze fixated on him. Worry, anger, pain and further more sorrow lay in them as they looked down on him. Slowly his brother lowered him to the ground. Sadly the blade had dislodged when Moriarty had fallen to the ground. It was making it easier to lay him down but the wound was bleeding freely now. Not strong enough to kill him within the next hour but bad enough that if not tended to would sign his death warrant. Prematurely that is. 

“Hello brother mine,” he said and even though his hand was shaking brushed one curl of the dark brown hair behind his brother ear.   
He had always found his brother’s curls rather cute even more so when he was younger. They were untameable on good days but looking at him now was rather wonderful. He had missed him horribly. Seeing him was good, a relieve even.   
“What have you done?”  
“Kept my promise,” Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes.   
There was no hiding anymore so he let go. Holding himself poised had become painful and tedious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you. No complaining now.
> 
> We are reaching the end of this lovely thing. One more chapter to go I think.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last chapter.  
> I apologise for the long wait you all had to endeavor. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who left a wonderful, much appreciated comment or a Kudos.

The first thing he realised was the warmth that surrounded him. Then beeping sounds filtered into his mind paired with something that sounded like hushed conversation. As he became slowly aware of his body he felt a dull ache in his side and his chest but what was more surprising to him was the fact that a hand was holding his. He recognised the long fingers after a while as those of his brother. It came as a bit of a surprise to think that Sherlock would sit at his bedside holding his hand.   
Struggling to gain control of his body he managed to twitch two fingers of the hand Sherlock was holding but instead of reacting to it the murmuring kept going. Confused he tried again and was sure that he succeeded in moving even more fingers. Yet the awaited reaction did not come.

He did not know when he had fallen asleep again but he was sure that he was drugged up enough that such unawareness was to be expected. The first thing he tried to focus on was if his brother’s hand was still there and indeed Sherlock was still at his side. After that came the struggle to gain enough control to open his eyes.   
When he succeeded the sigh that greeted him was one he would not have expected and truthfully not one he had wanted to see. Sherlock looked pale, eyes bloodshot and underlined with deep bags, his hair was a mess but a slight smile lay on his lips.

“Hello brother,” whispered Sherlock mindful of how sensitive the elder brother might be.   
Mycroft moved his fingers again in an attempt to squeeze the warm hand within his but instead it ended in a week twitch.   
“I did not want to alert the others before to you waking up.”  
He looked away and seemed to struggle with himself. Mycroft wanted to say something but knew that he would not have the strength. Keeping his eyes open alone was draining enough.   
“John said it’ll take you a while to regain consciousness but you’re far too stubborn to stay down for long.”  
Sherlock’s attempt at humour was weak at best but Mycroft appreciated the effort the younger was making. He surely wanted to yell at him and ask questions but knew that it would be no use and might upset him which would be dangerous considering he underwent heart surgery.   
“They patched you up. If you do as the doctors and everyone else says you should heal completely.”  
Sighing as much as he could Mycroft closed his eyes again. It was too much seeing Sherlock this uncertain and torn. 

 

When he woke the next time Anthea and Charlie were there. They were quietly talking to one another so Mycroft could observe them without them knowing about it. Sitting close together their hands were clasped together on Charlie’s leg. Both looked worried and worn Anthea more so than the other.   
He felt a pang of regret. His plan hadn’t been to survive and now he had to live with the consequences of his decisions. Truly the only good things that seemed to have come out of this were the fact that Sherlock was no longer in as much danger as before, the younger was talking to him again in a more pleasant way, and his dearest employees seemed to have truly found their love in each other.   
No matter the fallout he knew that he would figure a way out of it out. It would not be easy to appease the many people he had wronged these last months but he had been granted a second chance at live so surely there would be a way.

Anthea was the first to realise that he was awake. Her blue eyes widened and she pushed past Charlie. Pausing only for a few seconds she settled on the bed and leaned down to take her boss into a light hug. She was careful of his wounds aware that any pressure would probably hurt even though the man was drugged up on painkillers. 

He did not feel much but was aware of the stitching in his side but mostly on the one on his chest. There would be new scars marring his skin but only one would have been truly different from the others. Most came to him because somebody had tried to bring harm to him in some way or another. A few had been obtained because of Sherlock, a lot of these actually directly caused by his younger brother but most where there because of his work. His days as a field agent had been extensive and even after he left the active duty there had been attempts on his life.   
The fine scar that would be left from the open heart surgery would be the only one that was there because people wanted to save his life and not because someone had put him in the situation. His body had failed to get rid of the tumour and he himself had been unwilling to don anything about it. Truthfully it would be the only scar he had gained in his life that was practically caused by himself. 

“I am sorry sir,” said Anthea as she sat back.  
Tears sat at the corner of her eyes and Mycroft longed to brush them away. Anthea had been nothing but loyal to him and he had put her trough too much. She did not deserve this.   
Angry at himself Mycroft closed his eyes. He had been stupid, stubborn and in a way childish.   
He tried to convey that there was nothing to feels sorry about and with a teary smile his PA nodded. A hand settled on her shoulder and Mycroft looked up at Charlie. The man had grown a rather unprofessional beard. His frown must have said it all because the younger man’s hand flew to the offending growth. He patted it sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders.  
“No reason for me to keep up appearances. We’ve all been send home and are not to return until some people have had a chat with you.” 

Mycroft blinked at this piece of information. Why would they keep his team from doing their job? They were far too good at what they did and too important to be sitting by idle.   
“Most had been complaining about it but you know it’s a fully paid vacation for all of us and as nobody knows when things are cleared up again…” Charlie shrugged again leaving the sentence unfinished.   
“Nobody on the team is leaving their position and they are all waiting for your return Mr. Holmes,” added Anthea.   
That was good news as he had feared that he would have to rebuild his team upon his return. They were good and dedicated so it would be hard to find replacements for them. A memory hid him and he ripped his head up a bit too fast for his healing body. Flinching he breathed out deeply. As the pain ebbed away again he refocused on his most trusted. 

“It has been Timothy, sir.”  
His shoulders slumped. The young man had been very promising, so eager to impress and please but not trying too hard at it. He had had a lot of hope for him.  
“Everything is already sorted. Jim Moriarty had him placed with us from the beginning. It is only due the fact that Timothy had been so new to our team that nothing major could have been leaked. Sadly we all trusted him too much and did not see it but he was alone in this.”  
Mycroft closed his eyes again. It was good that he was always keeping to his rules no matter how good and promising new members to their team were. Otherwise Moriarty could have gained truthfully dangerous intel into their workings. 

 

It took him another two days to be able to stay awake for longer and talk for a lengthy time. The doctors were confident that he would be able to leave the hospital to the earliest possible moment. He still resented the fact that he would be stuck another good five to six weeks in the hospital. Anthea kept him entertained with paperwork and filled him in in the ongoings of their work. After a week he got the dreaded visit from his higher ups if you could call them that.   
Looking stern as ever the heads of MI5 and 6 tried to stare him down. He just lifted an eyebrow at them. Even dressed in a hospital gown with tubes in his arms they could not intimidate him. Who on the other hand was able to get there a bit was the queen herself. The prime minster did not even try at looking angry he knew that he had no chance with a man like Mycroft Holmes. 

They settled on him taking as much time as he needed to recover but he demanded his team to be reinstated and work to resume. He saw how relieved everyone was and smirked at their attempt at bulling him into it. There is nothing he wanted more than to return to work. Well nothing but seeing Sherlock again. After the first time of waking up and seeing him his younger brother had not returned to his side.   
He had hoped and at first believed that things would have returned to a more peaceful place. Sadly it seemed that now that the younger’s worries had been settled he did not care anymore. It hurt that there was no change for them as it seemed. 

 

By the third week into his hospital stay he was ready to kill. He realised that something had to change in his predicament after he had shouted at Anthea. The woman had stayed professional as ever but Mycroft knew he had hurt her. He may have lived his life by the phrase that caring was not an advantage but after nearly dying by his own doing he had realised that he needed change.  
The next day he was released and placed into a rehabilitation facility. He still was not allowed to lift anything remotely heavy, nor was he allowed to stand for long but being out of the hospital was enough. They all knew that ones he would be close to being released into home care he would be as bad as in the hospital.

The healing progress was slow but everyone was confident that he would make a full recovery. Mycroft was glad that he was allowed to do paperwork and attend conference calls. At first people had been thrown off by his clothing and location but they soon forgot about it. Things were looking up and even in his still weakened state he had averted two crises.   
There truly was only one thing putting a stumper on everything, after he had apologised to Anthea of course. Sherlock still had not shown his face and neither had his parents. He knew that they would be angry but he had believed their worry would have brought them to his side at some point. How had he been able to not care about these things before? Truthfully he had always cared about these things, deeply but he had not let them affect him. 

 

“Sir, are you sure you want to return home?” asked Anthea, the worry clear in her voice and more so in her face. Her brows were drawn together slightly and her eyes tense.   
“I need to be at home. There are too many people barging into this room at every time of day for me to truly relax. No matter that this is a facility for SIS it is not secure enough for a lot of work that is waiting for me. Things that no longer can be pushed back.”  
He stood from the bed slowly, aware of the danger of moving too fast. Straightening his cloths he felt more himself than in a long time. The suit was still loose around his frame but he was sure that once he was allowed full meals again he would fill out again. Even he had realised that he was too thin now. Maybe he would make sure not to regain as much weight as before, not that anyone needed to know about this. 

Stepping into his London house he took a deep breath and held it. It felt good to be home again. He had never realised how much safer he felt here before. No matter how save the facilities of the British secret service were after what had happened with Timothy he could not be too careful. Both Anthea and Charlie stayed at his side. His beautiful PA carried his laptop into his study while Charlie brought his cloths to his bedroom.   
For now he walked the rooms of his far too opulent home and ended in the kitchen. Checking the fridge was happy to see that it was fully stocked and all his utensils were at their right place. It was a well-kept secret that only very few knew about, not even Sherlock had been able to figure it out, but he loved to cook.   
Flipping the kettle on, he prepared three cups of tea to everybody’s preferences. It was a routine he had dearly missed, the simple mechanism of preparing tea. Setting everything on the kitchen table he sat down and waited for his most trusted people. Truly they had become more valuable over these last months than he had believed possible. He felt that he needed to do something to ensure that they knew how much he appreciated them. 

Anthea returned first, Charlie not far behind. Both sat opposite their boss and gratefully sipped their tea.   
“Sir…”  
Mycroft stopped her there with an upheld hand. Regarding both he leaned back.  
“I think it is about time that I offer you to call me by my name when we are not at work.”  
Both looked at him startled until Charlie smiled brightly and brushed his shoulder against Anthea’s. She needed a moment longer but once she accepted what had been offered she smiled shyly at her boss. Returning the smiles with one of his own they settled into comfortable silence. 

Still there were things sitting heavily on his mind. Mostly his parents and brother, he worried that he had pushed too far and they were beyond able to forgive him.   
“Has there been anything from either my parents or Sherlock?”  
Both looked at each other instantly and Mycroft knew that there hadn’t been. He let out a shuddering breath. Somehow along the crushing pain came anger. How long had he put everything on the line for Sherlock? How many times had he done what should have been his parent’s duty? Drawing a breath through his clenched teeth he closed his eyes. There was no reason to be angry at them, he was the one that did tell them he was sick. He had planned to die without saying goodbye. So in truth he deserved their ire and he had never really had anything else from Sherlock. Only their childhood had had them on good terms.  
“I’m sorry s… Mycroft.”  
He shook his head. There was nothing they could do about it. Things would return to how they were before just with him not dying anymore. It would have been easier on him if he had but the universe rarely was this lazy. There was no easy in life and when there was something was wrong. 

 

Feeling drained he settled into bed early but there he wasn’t able to find sleep. Sighing he sat up and dragged his hands over his face. There was no use in morning something that he hadn’t had in many years but his thoughts always returned to Sherlock on the first day he woke up. He had hoped for a better life. It was foolish to hope for these things. Caring was indeed no advantage.   
Frustrated with himself and his inability to sleep he got up and walked slowly into his study. There he lost himself in his work. Sleep schedules be damned he would not find sleep tonight and he’d rather do something useful than lay in bed. 

It was only when the first morning light flooded the study that he realised how much time had passed. He had sorted to his emails, read all reports and finished his own. Sighing he stretched his arms in front of himself. There was nothing else to do for now it would be a few hours before new reports needed his attention.   
Groaning he got up and walked to the kitchen. Breakfast might be a good idea and the calming progress of cooking might just be what he needed. 

Mycroft kept at this routine the first week of his return home. He did not get as much sleep as he might need but it was enough so that nobody realised. Anthea seemed happy with his progress and had scheduled the next appointment with the physician later that week. 

 

It was Saturday and he felt that something was wrong. Anthea had been far too cheerful as she reminded him of his appointment and Charlie was rather adamant about staying at his side for the whole day. He took him to the Diogenes Club afterwards where he was treated to a surprising warm welcome. Mr. Wilder brought him his favourite tea and a perfectly cut slice of lemon cake. Feeling more rested Mycroft enjoyed the rare treat and for a moment forgot about the fact that something had felt wrong before. The Club had always been his retreat when his mind had been to full.   
When it was time to return to his home and work Charlie took a small detour a long his favourite parts of London. He watched the view past and tried not to dwell on the fact that Charlie was stalling. 

What were both Anthea and him up to now? They planned something and it involved him. Somehow he needed to be gone from his home and there was only one thing that people did when they kept a person busy like this. His despised parties of any kind how they believed that this was a good idea was beyond him. There weren’t even many people who would attend such thing for his sake.   
In the not so long gone past it would have been his parents, Sherlock might have attended to annoy him but now there was nobody but those he worked with. He dreaded what was to come. 

 

From the outside nothing gave away what was to happen but Charlie’s grin did. The man could not wait and from the way Anthea had behaved earlier that morning neither could she. For their sake he would play along but he planned to play the sick card early and retreat.   
In the entrance hall there was no clue either but for the misplaced scarf. It could have been simply because Anthea used the rack but being aware of what was going on he knew it was more. Possibly one of the guests he had to attend soon. 

The closer he came to his living room the clearer became the murmuring. In the room there had to be about fifteen people from what he could gather. How they had managed to bring this many people here considering the most dearest to him would not be there was beyond him. As it seemed there was a lot about this endeavour that did not make sense to him. It was rattling him wrong he hated not completely understanding things. 

Entering the room he was instantly brought into a tight embrace. He recognised the arms instantly as those of his mother. Confusion shot through his system. She shouldn’t be here they were angry with him. Angry enough to not visit him in the hospital or the rehabilitation facility or his home.   
“Mummy what…”, he started.   
She drew back and held him at arm length. Her blue eyes so similar to Sherlock’s gazed up at him.   
“Mycie!”  
Mycroft did not dare to correct her this time.  
“It is good to see you son.”  
He looked at his father. Why were they here? He felt the sickening lurch in his heart and staggering he stepped back from his parents. There was nothing else he could focus on in that moment than the pain. With shaking hands he gripped the fabric above his heart. 

Instantly Anthea and Charlie were at his side but they were shoved aside to make room for Sherlock. His younger brother grabbed his face and forced him to look into his eyes.   
“Breath, brother mine.”  
He followed Sherlock’s breathing pattern. This time the roles were reversed as it had been him for so many years that brought the younger back again. After what seemed like minutes the pain lessened and the panic subsided.   
“I am sorry.”  
With that Sherlock embraced him and Mycroft could only return the gesture. Things did not make sense at all but he was just glad to be like this.   
“We should have visited you but we didn’t know if you would like us too. You kept away from all of us for so long now and we thought you would prefer to be left alone.”  
Mycroft looked at his mother and recognised the pain he himself had felt at their absence. It all had been a simple fact of understanding. How that had been possible between himself and Sherlock was a miracle but it had happened. Possibly because the both of them had been too stubborn to observe as Sherlock liked to say. 

He enjoyed the company of his family and those that he could call his friends. At the end of the night there were only his parents, Sherlock, and both Anthea and Charlie there. They sat around the kitchen table talking comfortably. It was more than he could have ever hoped for.   
Caring might hurt but it could be an advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.   
> Tell me what you think about it.
> 
> I needed to make it a happy end. Half way through I thought about letting things between Mycroft and Sherlock go unresolved, and really I did not resolve anything but be assured that they did eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> I am already 9430 words into this beast. Started to write it the day after I watched TAB because I was suffering from Mycroft!feels. My mind had settled on the idea that Mycroft is to die in season 4 and I couldn't cope with that. I still can't but writing all of this helps. 
> 
> I considered making this Mystrade but I am not sure about it as I feel that this would not fit the direction this thing has taken by now. So most likely this stays a pure Mycroft-centric thing.


End file.
